Monsters and Minds
by The-Excess-Dreams
Summary: The monster will live on, forever in the mind of the slayer. Nico Oneshot


**Disclaimer: I don't own PJO or HOO. (obviously).**

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" _He who fights with monsters might take care lest he thereby become a monster, and when you gaze long into an abyss the abyss also gazes into you." -Friedrich Nietzsche_

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A shiver runs down Nico's spine. The humid, Sticky air around him makes his head feel tight and full of cotton, the ground seemingly swaying like the deck of a ship. Sweat is forced down his pale arms in tiny droplets. He can taste its saltiness on his tongue as he drags it across his cracked lips, in a hopeless effort to moisten them.

In spite of the heat, he feels icy breaths caress his skin. As though the spirits of tortured souls were grasping at his clothes, pleading to be set free.

But no; Nico knows better. Souls don't come this deep. He is the only one. The only truly living thing for miles. But there probably aren't miles in Tartarus. Almost as old as the earth itself; it had no true beginning and no true end. It was just an endless, beginning-less, bottomless pit.

The sand at Nico's feet swirls around his ankles with each agonizing step. Like a nest of vicious serpents, thrashing around, trying to wrap their slim bodies around his legs, pulling him into whatever lies beneath the dunes. And he is almost tempted to let them. With each new step he takes, Tartarus wraps itself tighter and tighter around his mind. A deadly vine feeding off his thoughts, leaving them poisoned and twisted in its wake. _What is the use?_ They tell him. _There is no hope for you. There never was._

Yes, he is almost tempted. But he holds on. Holds onto the hope that he will find a way out. He has to, for _Him._ No…. n-not for Him… for Hazel. His sister. His family. His blood. Hazel, who was always there to comfort him. But when had he ever been there for her? He should be with her now, helping her on her quest; but _Nooo;_ He'd run away as soon as _He'd_ arrived, like the coward he was. Hiding behind his excuse to find the Doors of Death, so he could disregard his feelings just like he'd disregarded everyone he'd ever loved. And now he'd failed in his excuse, too. He'd been reckless and cocky. The underworld was supposed to be _his_ thing; He was the son of Hades for god's sake, darkness was his element. But _oh,_ how wrong he'd been. He'd been sucked right into Gaia's plan, just as he was sucked into Tartarus.

Turns out, he was just too weak from the beginning. Weak in his hopes, weak in his emotions. Weak in his one strength.

 _Feeble._

 _Useless._

 _Expendable._

What's the use in fighting? Those who fought met the same fate as those who didn't. They just broke first.

He'll die either way. It doesn't matter whether he fights valiantly or not at all. All his life; he's fought up until this point, but for what? Elysium? What's the point of life if you all you live for is death? But Nico knows that's not it. He knows he can't wait around for death to come knocking. He can't hide behind his friends and watch them die fighting for what they believed in, while he eats a happy meal and waits his turn. The children of Hades don't sit and wait until the time's up. Time and space? Those are all just metaphorical.

But look where fighting had gotten him. He couldn't shadow travel out of this one. The darkness was everywhere. It consumed everything. It tugs at his very soul, latching onto him, pulling him apart. _You are shadow too,_ it whispers. _You and I are one._ There were no shadows in Tartarus. Tartarus _WAS shadow._

At some point on his journey between No-Beginning and No-End, a monster appears before him. He sees it before it sees him. looming out of the dunes ahead of him, the harsh red light of Tartarus filtering over the poison green of its scales. It almost doesn't look real. Just an illusion. A mirage in the sand.

His sword comes down upon it without a second's hesitation. The wicked iron cutting into its flesh before it even has time to widen its cat-slit eyes in alarm. What's left of it floats down in flurries of yellow dust. Blending in with the sand at Nico's feet. But perhaps it isn't sand, he realizes. Perhaps it's all monster dust. Collecting down here from all the countless monsters that have been slain over the past millennia. The remains of millions of beasts, pooled together to form an ocean. An ocean with one purpose: To drown him. To make him suffocate in the evidence of his crimes. To take revenge on him and his kind. But they hadn't died; not really. The monster will live on, forever in the mind of the slayer.

He laughs bitterly. Perhaps this is where he belongs. In the land of monsters. The land of slay-or-be-slain. But in the end, it doesn't matter if you slay or not. You're dead either way. With each new monster he kills, the monster in his head grows stronger. Biding its time.

Because if he fights monsters… maybe he is a monster.

And if he's a monster, maybe he deserves to be in Tartarus.

It goes on for some time; this internal game of cat-and-mouse. It could have been days, it could have been years, but it feels like an eternity.

You know when you dream sometimes, and you're chased by your worst nightmares; a villain, a monster, some unknown creature hiding in the shadows of your mind. They follow you for what feels like forever and a day. You dash over roof-tops made of smoke, through the night air, around whatever obstacles your sleeping mind designs, and at some point, your initial fear is whisked away, replaced by a growing impatience. You've been at this forever. Neither one of you has gained any distance. You're annoyed. You're bored.

Because you know it's a dream. You realize, "This is stupid!" So, you give your opponent what it wants. You stop, it catches you, and you wake up. You go on with your life.

Nico's life feels like a dream. And he's so close to stopping.

How long before he realizes he's already awake?

Trance-like days of trekking follow. Through parched wastelands and along the river of fire, drinking its life preserving liquids. The flames lick at his throat and burn his tongue; a fiery serpent sliding through his body. But the pain doesn't hurt him; it grounds him to reality, so there is always a part of his mind that knows he hasn't gone insane.

When the enemy finally finds him, they don't find Nico. They find a fragment of Nico. Broken, shattered, but somehow still fighting. The cat in his head still chasing the mouse, whilst the real cat moves in for the kill. A game inside a game.

He is easy to collect; an angel without its wings can't fly.

And when they take him back to the place where boundaries and time are meaningful again, when they lock him up as bait, torture him and wait for his death, they forgot one thing:

Sometimes, our monsters break us; tear us apart and leave us as half a being. Sometimes, they ruin us, turning minds against conscience.

But sometimes,

They make us stronger.

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" _Monsters are real, and ghosts are real too. They live inside us, and sometimes, they win."_

 _\- Stephen King_

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" _It's ironic, but until you can free those final monsters within the jungle of yourself, your life, your soul is up for grabs." - Rona Barrett_

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 **A/N Hi there! So...this is my first submission to this site. In other words, I'm not really sure how to submit stuff properly, so if the formatting sucks, it's not my fault!**

 **This story is a bit of a pointless ramble, but oh well.**

 **Please review! It would mean the world to me. :) Constructive criticism is greatly appreciated!**

 **Lots of love, The E. D.**


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